Suburban Knights: A Novelization
by ZQ
Summary: And so the Fellowship, newly forged through their strength and wisdom, scaled the hill. They knew they would remain strong, for their destinies awaited them. Perils would stand in their way though, and a great evil was watching over them...
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and Bill was totally happy. That wasn't much of a surprise to anyone who know him. Bill was usually happy. It was how he rolled. Most people who met him for the first time simply tended to assume he was stoned. As did all of his friends. And his parents. And his mailman. But it wasn't that, though. Bill was the sort who just went along in a perpetual state of bliss. To him, life was sweet, the days were young, and the road ahead was obstacle-free and open to infinite possibilities. He still had a lust for life that most people grew out of when they stopped watching _Sesame Street_ and he knew that there was at least one adventure waiting for him in life.

Bill was, of course, also something of a dumbass.

Regardless, he was firmly in this state of mind as he barreled down an empty, country road, banging his head to a killer tune on the radio. So enthralled by this song was he, that he almost missed the mysterious man standing by the road. Almost.

Most people (those more aware than Bill) would have seen this man right off the bat. Perhaps it was because he was the only person standing by the road for at least twenty miles. Perhaps it was because he was clad from head to toe in black leather, in spite of the sun shining at full power. Or perhaps it was the bizarrely anachronistic look he pulled off, with the hippest pair of shades one could imagine blocking his eyes from view, while there was a simple walking stick clutched in his hand.

Bill did notice this man, but he did not continue on down the road as most people (those with better self-preservation instincts than Bill) would have done. Instead, he pulled off on the side of the road, rolled down the window, and poked his head out. "Hey buddy! Need a lift?" he called over.

The man looked Bill's car over as if he was driving gutted roadkill. (Bill did not know how such a feat would be possible, but he was sure _someone_ could manage. After all, it was only a matter of science). "In this?" the man asked, poking the right-front tire with his walking stick, looking at it as if it had insulted his mother.

For the briefest moment, Bill felt his good humor ebb. Sure his car wasn't expensive or fancy, but he paid for it through honest work and not robbing hookers, like most of his friends did. Still, he swallowed any indignation he felt. Surely this man was just irritated from the long walk he'd undoubtedly had. The black leather probably wasn't helping either. Bill wasn't entirely sure what someone suffering from sun stroke acted like, but he was pretty sure that grumpiness was one of the symptoms. "Yeah, unless you could pull a plane out of your pocket," replied Bill. The thought of that happening made him crack up. "'Cause if you could, that'd be awesome," he added.

The man sighed and most people (those who weren't blinded by rose-colored glasses, as Bill was) would have guessed that he was rolling his eyes under the sunglasses. Without saying a word, he opened the door and took a seat next to Bill.

"I really dig your get-up, man," said Bill, getting an up-close look at the stranger for the first time. "It's very Matrix meets Matrix Reloaded." More than that though, Bill noted how the outfit was in great shape, considering the guy had almost certainly been walking for some time. No dust, no dirt, no stains in the armpits. It was snazzy and if Bill was a little more secure in his masculinity, he would have admitted to himself that the ensemble was rather hot.

The man remained silent as Bill looked him over. Bill cleared his throat. It wasn't often that he met someone who didn't talk at all. "Yeah, the Matrix. You ever see those movies?"

No response. The man stared straight ahead.

Bill grinned. What the hell, the dude was probably shy. "That's beautiful, man. So, where you headed?"

"Chicago," said the man, doing an impressive job of keeping inflection and emotion out of his voice.

Bill didn't care. He was over the moon that his unexpected guest was talking. "Chicago! The Windy City!" he shouted with joy. "That shouldn't be too far out of the way! Let me just program this into my GPS." He snatched it off of the dashboard and began to fiddle with it. One would think that after using it for three years, one would get the hang of it. "Get this bloody thing to work."

As Bill fiddled with the GPS, he became aware of the man glancing at the various electronic devices in the car. The radio. The cell phone being recharged. The DVD player and TV. As his eyes passed over each one, his expression became increasingly pissed. If Bill didn't know better, he'd have thought they were personally offending him.

The GPS began running some information across the screen, getting Bill's undivided attention again. " According to this, it should be... 2000 miles," he muttered. "No, that can't be right. Let me just fix this. No, I don't want to go to Lake Okeechobee. You know, my mom always said only so many times a man can drive into a lake. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me five times, shame on the GPS. Awesome! I think I got it!" He looked up and was surprised to see the man staring intently at him. The dude must be more impatient to get going than he let on. "So what part of Chicago are you going to?" Bill asked

The man did not answer. He turned his attention to the GPS, his lip curling. "You're using that?" he asked.

"Well, yeah."

"Don't use that." The man didn't raise his voice, but there was a definite icy edge to it.

"Why not?" asked Bill, furrowing his brow. The guy was starting to creep him out.

"Just, don't."

"Dude," said Bill, "I get everywhere with this thing. I'd be totally lost without it."

The man stared at Bill. For the first time, Bill wished the dude wasn't wearing those sunglasses. They were creeping him out. "It's bad enough you have to imprison yourself in this technological deathtrap," the man said. "But now you sacrifice your own sense of direction? Your intuition?" As he spoke, each word came out faster and faster. "Your own means of travel is determined by wires, electric highways. Circuits to destruction. You make no decisions for yourself. You hand over everything to these mechanical wonders." His words were now weighed down by an intensity that most people (those smarter than Bill) would find unnerving. Even Bill shivered. "And for all their digital prestidigitation, you become no smarter for it," the man continued. "You enter this world empty, and you will leave this world... empty.

Bill blinked. "Dude, did I say something wrong or...?"

"What do you think of the 21st century, mister...?

"Bill."

"Bill. What do you think of the 21st century, Bill?"

Bill scratched his head. "Well, it's alright. I mean, like, Gaga's a little weird and all, but I think it's pretty solid."

The man stared at Bill with a level of intensity that not even his rocking sunglasses could conceal. "You enjoy it?"

"Yeah," said Bill

Would you swear by it?" the man asked.

"Sure," said Bill, not quite sure what he was getting at.

"Would you give up everything you own for it?"

Bill shook his head. "That doesn't make much sense. Everything I own's in the 21st century, man."

"No. No it isn't." The tiniest of smiles danced on the man's lips. "There's one other thing you own the that 21st century hasn't given you. And it can be taken away. Very, very easily. Do you want it taken away... Bill?"

Bill laughed, as he suddenly figured out what the guy's deal was. "Dude, what are you on? 'Cause I totally want some."

The man's smile widened as he murmured a few nonsensical words. Yeah, dude was stoned out of his gourd. Bill totally called i-

There was a bang followed by a sick splatter. The inside of windshield and the driver's window became coated with the blood, skull fragments, and brains of the motorist formerly known as Bill. The man indulged in an even wider smile as he watched the idiot's body fall sideways and get wedged between the car door and the steering wheel. It was worth it, even though he knew what was coming.

As he exited the car, the man stumbled. He planted his walking stick and leaned against it as a wave of nausea and dizziness hit him. He didn't let it bother him though. Soon, that problem would be sorted.

The man began walking down the road. As he set off, he muttered a few more words. He clenched his teeth as pain spiked through his head almost immediately after. It was coming stronger and faster now. But again, he regretted nothing.

Behind him, Bill's car caught fire and exploded. The man paused for a moment to admire the sight. It pleased him to know that such a wasteful, clumsy thing was taken care of. But he reminded himself that he couldn't dwaddle for such pleasurable pastimes. He had to reach Chicago as quickly as possible.

The game was afoot.

* * *

><p>So...hi! As the title says, I'm trying my hand at writing a novelization for the third anniversary event for Channel Awesome, Suburban Knights. If you've seen it, I hope I keep this fun for everyone! If you haven't seen it, go watch it now!<p>

Disclaimers - I do not own any of the reviewers who are in this fanfiction. They all belong to their respective selves. I do not own the plot of Suburban Knights. That belongs to the crew of Channel Awesome.

This fanfiction will be rated T, for swearing and violent situations.

Finally, this fanfiction was inspired by Xoanon and his fantastic novelization of the second anniversary event Channel Awesome did, you have not read that, I highly recommend it.

The best! - ZQ


	2. Chapter 1: An Unexpected Gathering

**Chapter 1**

_"Is everything in order?"_

_"Nearly. I know not the whereabouts of Number Three."_

_"I sent Number Three on a vital mission. With any luck and competence, he ought to complete it in time to rejoin us before we strike."_

_"Mmm. And you have that much faith in Number Three's abilities, do you, Number One?"_

_"Point. Even so, Number Two, this mission is simple enough that surely even Number Three can manage."_

_"You sent him to fetch your coffee, didn't you?"  
><em>

_"Yes, of course. It is a - Number Two STOP THAT LAUGHING!"_

_"A vital mission? Seriously?"_

_"You try launching an attack before eight in the morning without caffeine, and see how wide awake you are!"_

_"If you say so, Number One."_

_"I can still hear you sniggering! Honestly, what does a servant of darkness need to do to earn respect?"_

* * *

><p>The suburban neighborhood of Nonamia had long since gotten used to strange things happening, especially at 555, 29th Street. Screams in the night. Grown men chasing ghosts down the street. Lasers blowing up DVDs of crappy Don Bluth sequels. It was all good, as far as the area was concerned, so long as the insanity stayed out of their geraniums.<p>

Because of this, no one paid the slighest bit of attention when a Texan with an impressive mustache was strutting down the street, humming loudly and looking as if Christmas and his birthday had arrived early and on the same day.

For his part, Angry Joe had no intention of living up to his name today. No siree, not a bit! Finally, his luck had turned around. After swearing and ranting and having to review that god-awful Avatar movie, things were looking better!

"Hello, my good sir!" said Joe, to a man who was retrieving the morning paper. "How are you today?"

The man blinked. It was all well and good to ignore the weirdness, but that didn't make it any less awkward when the weirdness directly addressed one. "Well," he began.

"Can't talk now!" Joe cut in. "I just won a _FREE CAR_!" He continued on his way, laughing maniacally and leaving the man to scratch his head.

Joe had to admit, it had taken him by surprise when he received the voucher in the mail. He certainly couldn't remember entering any Golden Gate Giveaway Sweepstates, run by any Ramalamadingdong, Crown Prince of Nigeria. But there it was in his hand, a scrap of blue construction paper with the words "FREE CAR!" and the address to claim the prize. The address which - Joe paused to double check - he was standing in front of right now. Yes, there it was. 555, 29th ST, NONAMIA.

He grinned and marched inside. Funny that they'd choose some bland, suburban home to give away a car at. Still, Prince Ramalamadingdong had mentioned being in exile, so perhaps options were limited.

"Alright," called Joe, as he walked down the hallway and turned into the first room he could see. "Where's that free - NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!"

There was no car in that room. What there _was_, was some tasteful furniture, a TV rigged up to a crude VHS player, and most of the reviewers from Channel Awesome.

The reviewers hardly even glanced up as Joe continued to scream his "NO!"s. Most of them seemed to worn down to care. The Nostalgia Chick was occupied with her coffee. Todd in the Shadows was busy staring at Obscurus Lupa. Obscurus Lupa was busy ignoring Todd. Only Film Brain acknowledged Joe's arrival, giving the Texan a cheerful wave.

"Let me guess, you guys were promised a free car too?" wailed Joe, after screaming "NO!" a half a dozen more times. His face crumpled as everyone in the room nodded. "But there is no car, is there?" he asked. Everyone shook their head. "It's the Nostalgia Critic again, isn't it?" he wailed. Everyone nodded once again.

"Oh, God," groaned Joe, as he gave in to the inevitable and threw himself down on the sofa, next to Lupa. "How does he keep _managing_ this? First that brawl, and then that invasion last year -"

"Wait, what invasion was this?" asked Todd.

"Don't even ask," sighed Marzgurl, from her spot on the floor.

"Who knows what he'll rope us into next year? Christ, who knows what he has planned for us _now_?" Joe began to sob.

"Don't worry, Joe," said Lupa, patting him on the shoulder. "We'll get him in his sleep."

* * *

><p>The gleam in the Nostalgia Critic's eye could only be labeled "insane", as he set off for his living room. Clutched securely in his hand was everyone's ticket to greatness - an old VHS with the word "EPICNESS!" scrawled across the top. This was it! Everyone ought to have arrived by now, and there was <em>nothing<em> to get in the way of this plan! Not some smart-alec president of some micronation, not the Angry Videogame Nerd, nothing!

As he approached the living room, he could hear the group talking.

"So, what kind of half-assed scheme do you think he has this time?" asked Lupa.

"I don't know, but I'm so _excited_!" squeed Film Brain.

"...Um, is there like some sort of medicine you should be on?" she asked, exasperated.

"Oh hey, you're Todd in the Shadows, right?" came Jew Wario's voice. "I always wondered what you looked like under that thing..." From the sound of things, the Critic could tell he had dropped the manchild act. Excellent. A bit of maturity would make a world of difference.

" - And then he backed away!" squeaked Jew Wario, after there was the ominous sound of a gun cocking.

The Critic decided to make his grand entrance, before the reviewers began to kill each other. "Hello fellow reviewers of !" he cried, stepping into the room. "How are you today?"

Immediately after saying this, he ducked. The bullet passed cleanly over his head and a very pissed-off Linkara lowered his Magic Gun.

"Okay, so 'ya figured out there's no car." The Critic was in too good a mood to find out that his team mates had tried to turn on him again. They would see reason to rejoice soon enough. "I would be angry too. But if I was to tell you the real reason that I brought you all out here, I'm afraid none of you would show."

"What are you talking about?" asked Marzgurl, rubbing her forehead and wishing she had stopped for aspirin on the trip over.

"The truth, my dear friends, is that I have something better than the car," said the Critic.

"It better be a boat," Phelous grumbled, his sarcasm fueled by an strong sense of foreboding that pissed him off. By now, he was fairly certain that the Critic was moving to con them into something and he was damned if they were going to have a repeat of Kickassia. One time of having that pretentious asshole steal his ideas was good enough for him, thanks.

The Critic beamed at the reviewers, ignoring the tension and fury that by now was so thick in the air, it was nearly clogging the air vents. "I'm talking about something that can get us riches beyond your wildest dreams. Something that can make every single person in this room a millionaire."

The sound of the front door opening interrupted the Critic's speech. A moment later, there were footsteps coming down the hallway and a voice saying "Alrighty, where's that free c- NOOOOOOOO!" Spoony had arrived and, like Angry Joe, was not pleased to find that he had been tricked.

The Critic grinned and patted Spoony on the shoulder, either not noticing or ignoring the tears of despair the reviewer was shedding. "Spoony, Spoony," the Critic said. "So glad you could make it! Go join your team!"

Spoon ambled across the living room while still sobbing, a spirit broken. He plopped himself on the floor, where Lupa rubbed his back in a consoling manner. "Don't worry," she assured him. "We'll make him pay."

* * *

><p><strong>So! An update!<strong>

**I apologize very much for the amount of time it took for this. Hopefully, the next few chapters will be quicker in coming.**

**I am in no way own or am affiliated with Channel Awesome and its reviewers, _Suburban Knights_, or any of the cast or crew of it. This is being written for entertainment purposes only, and I am in no way profiting from it.**

**If it pleases you, drop a bit of constructive criticism! Thanks! ^^  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 2: Critics and Confusion

**Chapter 2**

All eyes turned back to the Critic, who waved around the VHS in his hand. "My friends, we are sitting on the opportunity of a lifetime," he said. "All of the answers are on this VHS. Who wants to play it?"

"OH! ME! I DO, I DO, IDOIDOIDO!" squealed Film Brain, to no one's surprise. He leaped to his feet, sped over to the Critic, and reached for the tape...

... Only for another hand to shoot out and grab it first.

"I'll do it for you, Critic," said the owner of the hand, a rather smug-looking boy with curly hair.

"What...who...?" whimpered Film Brain, trying to process this cockblocking of his fanboyism.

"Ah, Film Brain, I see you've met Luke Mochrie," said the Critic, beaming at the British reviewer. "He's an up and coming talent on the site. A real go-getter!"

"Up and coming?" Film Brain repeated weakly.

"Yeah, I'm sort of like you, only fresh and new," said Luke. He and the Critic shared a hearty laugh, the Critic's arm hanging around his shoulders.

"So as you can see, Luke has this one. So, if you could just get out of the way there..." said the Critic. Without further ado, he seized Film Brain by the shoulder and shoved him to the side.

Film Brain clamored back onto his feet as Luke put in the VHS. This would not stand! _He_ was the Critic's toady, not that smarmy idiot! He would be the favorite again! All he had to do was remind the Critic of all of the good times they'd had, all of the things he could offer...

"So...can I, um, make you some coffee, Mr. Critic?" Film Brain asked.

"What? Oh sure, that'd be great...ah...erm..."

"Film Brain."

"...Film Brain. Yeah, sure whatever."

Film Brain trotted off to the kitchen, his smile more than a little forced, as the VHS began to play.

"Oh boy! A movie!" cried Benzai, inexplicably crawling out between the Cinema Snob's legs. No one questioned this. They had all seen Benzai come out of weirder places.

The VHS was now showing a GNN title card. Several of the reviewers began making snarky comments, until the Critic informed them that they would not be getting paid for any reviews they did. That shut everyone up.

On the screen, a man who the subtitles introduced as Larry Prince stared at the camera solemnly. "New information in the disappearance of 30-year-old game store clerk Chuck Jaffers, from Gurnee," he said, moving as few facial muscles as possible. "Police are revealing a strange portrait of the man that witnesses described as 'emotionally troubled'."

The tape cut to a woman, who the subtitles helpfully identified as "a witness". "He was emotionally troubled," she said, her voice completely deadpan.

Back to Larry Prince. "According to friends and family, Jaffers was apparently an avid player of the counterculture "role-playing game" Dungeons and Dragons. However, in the days leading up to his disappearance, he was heard ranting about finding a magical gauntlet called Malachite's Hand. Police suspect that the game may have driven Jaffers to insanity, and caused him to run mad into the street. Not unlike the timeless tale of Mazes and Monsters."

"Oh that is BULLSHIT!" shouted Spoony, causing the Critic to take a protective step closer to the TV. It took him hours to find a working VHS player, and he wasn't going to let one of those idiots screw things up by destroying it in outrage.

"The actual location of Jaffers still remains a mystery," continued Prince, who of course was unaware of the fury ignited in one of his modern-day viewers. He removed his glasses. "Sad. Very, very sad." He put his glasses back on and perked up. "And now, on a lighter note, the President has been shot."

"Well?" asked the Critic, ejecting the tape.

There were blank stares all around.

"So, what?" asked Benzai.

"The gauntlet! The magic gauntlet he was talking about!" said the Critic, excitedly.

"What about it?" groaned Linkara, wishing he'd brought some aspirin along with his Magic Gun.

The Critic grinned. "I've done some research on this gauntlet, and it turns out it really exists! Apparently there are some sort of ancient jewel that you place on the gauntlet that was rumored to make it indestructible!"

The reviewers in the room collectively blinked. They all thought that the Critic had gone batshit when reviewing _Battlefield Earth_, but apparently he went off the deep end much more recently tan they suspected.

Finally, Paw decided to humor him. "So you think that by finding it, we can take control of its 'magical' powers?"

"Oh, hell no! There's no such thing as magic!" said the Critic (Linkara had to be forcibly restrained by Benzai). "But," continued the Critic, "_But_, if we find this thing, it could be worth a fortune. People would pay through the nose to get a look at it!"

"Well, what does it matter?" asked Phelous, who decided that if no one else was going to try for "logic", he might as well take a stab at it. "Even if it is worth a bundle, we have no idea where it is or how to find it."

"On the contrary," said the Critic. He pulled out a map, to the dismay of everyone in the room (except for Film Brain, who looked positively gleeful) "I found the map that Jaffers made! He knew where it was! He left clues! All you have to do is just play a stupid game he created. A game that will lead us directly to the gauntlet!"

"But this is all written in rhymes and riddles! How are we supposed to figure it all out?" asked Bennett the Sage, from behind the Critic.

The Nostalgia Critic spun around, sputtering like crazy. Not only did Sage sneak up on him, but he also somehow got the map out of the Critic's hands, and was closely examining it.

"How the hell did you get that?" the Critic screeched.

Sage grinned cheekily. "Just getting a head start?"

"_Anyway_," snapped the Critic, yanking the map out of Sage's hands, "that's pretty much the catch. Like that news report said, Jaffers was this ginormous geek and it seems he wrote this whole thing like a role-playing game. It shouldn't be too hard to get around. We just need to figure out his stupid riddles, and pretending to be a fantasy character will make it a lot easier. If you're totally in touch with wizards, dragons, and all that crap, the more likely you are to figure this out and find the treasure."

"So...it's like LARPing?" asked Spoony.

The Critic slapped his forehead. "No! That's just a bunch of dorks dressing up and fighting for a fake reward."

"While we're a bunch of dorks dressing up and fighting for a real reward," said Spoony.

"Exactly."

"Jesus," muttered Cinema Snob, rolling his eyes.

"And it can be any fantasy characters?" asked Todd.

"Any characters from a quest-related fantasy, yes," replied the Critic. "Now according to the map, there are two paths we can take. We can split into two teams, to increase our chances of finding the gauntlet!"

The Critic beamed as he looked at the cynicle faces of the many internet reviewers. A lesser man might have faltered at this point, or lost hope that they wouldn't go with it. After all, years of examining terrible media had killed their souls and spoiled their desire for adventure. Fortunately, the Critic was too stupid to think of any of this. He just looked at them all, pure joy on his face as he clearly expected them to all be on board. Several of them began to shift uncomfortably.

Finally, the Chick spoke. "You honestly think this is gonna pay off?"

The Critic slowly walked over to the nearest window, shoving Paw and Eight-bit Mickey out of the way as he went. "My friends," he said, taking advantage of his impressive, booming voice, "after all of this is over, we will have more than material gain. Oh yes, we will not only have a ton of money, our names will also be written in the Book of Destiny. Names will be remembered. Quests will become legends. And legends will become...legendary. We are standing on the threshold of greatness, of glory, and all we need to do is to take that first step. So what say you, my proud warriors of virtue? Will you stand and fight?"

He spun around and saw that none of them were standing, period. While he had been monologuing, they had all silently escaped from the living room.

"Goddamnit! It's like working with a bunch of kindergarteners!" snarled the Critic. Cursing Linkara for teaching so many of them to move stealthily the year prior, he stormed over to the front door and stuck his head out. "HEY!" he screamed, ignoring the glares the neighbors shot him from their windows. "IF YOU DON'T DO THIS, YOU'RE ALL _FIRED_!"

There were audible groans from the bushes and street lights that the reviewers were trying to sneak away behind. The Critic ignored them.

"SHOW UP AT EIGHT AM TOMORROW AND BRING YOUR COSTUMES!" he bellowed, before slamming the door shut. He stormed down the front hall, only to be blocked by an overly cheerful Film Brain.

"Here's your coffee, Mr. Critic!" he chirped.

The Critic was too pissed off to even wonder when Film Brain made it. "Get with the program!" he snapped. "Luke already got me a latte!"

Film Brain looked around the Critic and he nearly dropped the cup of home-brewed coffee. Standing there, bold as brass, like some sort of Looney Tune character, was Luke Mochrie.

"Extra cream and sugar?" he asked, handing the cup to the Critic.

"Oh Luke, You know just what I'm looking for," said the Critic, taking the cup and smiling at him.

Luke beamed at him and shot Film Brain a smug look, before trotting out the door. "I'll be here right on time, tomorrow morning!" he called, as he left.

"Now there's a kid who's going places," said the Critic, watching after him fondly. He turned and shoved past Film Brain, who appeared to have gone catatonic with a smile frozen on his face. "You just haven't been on your A-game, have you?" the Critic asked him, sighing and shaking his head as he left.

With a violent flex of his hand, Film Brain crushed the Styrofoam cup in his hand. He didn't break his smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Here we go with another update! I'm sorry if things are a bit slow here. It should be picking up in the next chapter or so.<strong>

**I am in no way own or am affiliated with Channel Awesome and its reviewers, _Suburban Knights_, or any of the cast or crew of it. This is being written for entertainment purposes only, and I am in no way profiting from it.**

**If it pleases you, drop a bit of constructive criticism! Thanks! ^^**


	4. Chapter 3: Insane is the Descent

**Chapter 3**

As the clock struck midnight, two shadowy figures stepped off of the bus heading through Nonamia. Well, one stepped. The other was carried.

They were ancient evils, or at least a really ratty, old one and a middle-aged one. They had been in a dormant state, holed up in their apartment, but then the middle-aged one delved too deeply and greedily down the listings of Craig's List. Long had he combed that site for a job for them. Children's entertainment. Parties. Talent shows. Internet show co-host. Anything to make them a living.

Now, their massive power was ready to be unleashed. They had been hired. None could match their skills in combat. They had years of watching each others' backs, while drinking themselves through college many a dateless night. Now, they were up against the world.

And by _God_, were they pissed off.

* * *

><p>Throughout Nonamia, everyone was blissfully unaware of the gathering storm on the horizon. Nearly everyone was asleep, save for a few overworked souls, several insomnia-stricken teenagers, and one incredibly crazy internet reviewer.<p>

In his bedroom, the Critic was preparing for the oncoming trials the morning would bring. He drew forth from his closet a sword, slavishly made to mimic the Master Sword, from _The Legend of Zelda_. He pulled the blade from the sheath and, with great care, began to practice some swings. The sun would rise. A dawn of a new day would be at hand. The town of Chicago would be repleat with -

"Critic! Heart!"

"AHHHHHH!" The Critic spun around, nearly slicking a bed post in half in the process. Behind him, there inexplicably was an Indian boy, who had an incredibly gaudy ring on one hand, and a card in the other. "JESUS CHRIST!" he screamed.

"No, Critic!" said the boy. "It is Ma-ti! From _Captain Planet_!"

"Yeah, I know that," snarled the Critic, breathing deeply to get his heart rate under control. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I was told there was a free car," Ma-ti said, waving the card, which simply had "FREE CAR! YAY!" written on it.

"I didn't send you a message," said the Critic. "How did it even lead you here? There's no address on it."

"Oh, it's not important now, I guess," said Ma-ti, throwing the card over his shoulder. "I don't think Gaia would be very happy with me driving any car that isn't one of her magical, environment-friendly ones, anyway. Plus, I think I'm way below the legal age limit to have a license."

"Whatever. Since there's no car, you can scram."

"No, that wasn't the only reason I came." Ma-ti had a steely look in his eye, which made the Critic nervous. "I heard that you were putting together a team for a quest. Might I come along?"

The Critic desperately weighed his options. On one hand, he did _not_ want that little Heart-channeling pussy tagging along. He would really ruin their image! On the other hand though, if he turned Ma-ti down, that was just begging for some sort of politically-correct media scandal. Probably that asshole Ted Turner would go on the news, ranting about the discrimination of Indians who thought they were South Americans, and who wanted that? No, there had to be a better way...

"Um...I'd love for you to come along, Ma-ti! Really, I would!" said the Critic, putting on the most inspiration voice he could muster. "Ah...but...we really need you...here."

"Here?"

"Yes," said the Critic, gesturing grandly towards the general vicinity. "We need you here, to protect the children and elderly."

Ma-ti looked around the nearly-empty room, completely confused. "But...there aren't any children or elderly here."

"Exactly," said the Critic, clapping his hands on Ma-ti's shoulders. "That's what makes it so hard, Ma-ti! That's what makes it so hard. Do you understand my plight?"

"No, I don't understand your plight."

"Of course you don't! No one does! _I_ don't understand it! I don't even know what 'plight' means! But I need you on my side for this, alright?"

Ma-ti looked even more confused. "But Critic, there's no one to represent Heart on your team!"

_Thank God for that_, the Critic thought. Aloud, he simply said "Dammit Ma-ti, do you think I don't know that?" He pretended to be choked up, getting tears to well in his eyes by recalling the many times since he became an internet reviewer that he was kicked in the balls. "Don't you think I'd give anything to have you on board with this mission?"

"Um..." Ma-ti clearly was floored.

"But I have chosen the life that I lead, and you have chosen the life that you lead. The Force may be with you, always. I know it sounds complex, even confusing, but trust me when I say that nothing will change that, Ma-Ti! Nothing will change that! When destiny calls you, you must be strong! Just look over your shoulder and kiss the girl! Nothing will come from nothing, you know what they say! Will you answer nothing's call?

"Is...'nothing' something?"

"It's _everything_!"

"Wow," gasped Ma-ti.

"So help us!" said the Critic, pressing the emotional advantage he knew he had. "Help me help you help me! Let's _make this happen, Ma-ti_!"

"Yes!" cried Ma-ti, pumping his fist in the air.

"Tonight!"

"YES!"

"Now, get out there and show 'em what you're made of, you little pop tart!"

"_YES_!" screamed Ma-ti, and with a great battle cry (or as great as a wuss like himself could muster), he charged from the room, down the stairs, and out the front door.

"Sucker," laughed the Critic. He returned to his swordwork, after making a mental note to use some of the untold millions soon to be gained from the mission to change all of the house's locks.

* * *

><p>As the clock struck eight, the Critic's bedroom door swung open and the man himself emerged. No more was he a whiny bastard who could shriek like a little girl. He was now a brave soldier, a swordsman, a knight of Nintendo.<p>

There was a grin plastered on his face as he strode down the stairs. He wore a bright green, floppy hat, a matching tunic, and boots. There were nary a pair of leggings or trousers to be seen on him, and he valiantly tried to ignore the drafts. He wondered briefly how girls managed to deal with that issue, and whether or not Link's ass was so frostbitten during the snow levels of his games. He tried to drag his mind from such thoughts. This was worth a bit of a chill. His would by far be the greatest costume, of that he was certain! He had mugged the best _Legend of Zelda_ cosplayers to put it together!

"Now this is a manly costume!" he proclaimed, as he reached the bottom of the steps.

"Not as manly as mine!" a voice behind him shouted.

The Critic gave a decidedly un-manly scream as he spun around. Behind him stood Angry Joe, wearing some peasant-y get-up and a ridiculous wig. He held a rapier, which he promptly pointed at the Critic's neck.

"Jesus, Joe!" said an unimpressed Critic, "Don't sneak up on me! And for the love of God, point that thing in another direction!"

Joe smirked. "'Allo," he said, not moving the rapier an inch. "My name is not Joe. It is Inigo Montoya. You killed my brother -"

"Father," the Critic corrected him.

"Father," said Joe, continuing without missing a beat. "Prepare to die."

"Alright Joe, very cute," snapped the Critic, stepping away from the rapier. "Now, will you knock it off? I don't want to encourage every tights-wearing idiot to enter all overly dramat - JESUS!"

The Critic cut himself off as Spoon leaped into the front hallway from the living room, bellowing "FLY, YOU FOOLS!" He stood proudly before the Critic and Joe, staff at hand, robs billowing around his blue jeans, and a ridiculous, pointed hat on his head. "For I am the servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor!" he continued, as the two reviewers stared blankly at him. He was able to mimic Ian McKellan's voice impressively, though that might have been bits of his fake beard getting into his mouth. "Dark Fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn!"

The Critic irritably reached out and pulled the fake beard towards him. "Very nice. Knock before you come in, Dumbledore!" he said. He let go of the beard, letting it fly back and hit Spoony in the face. Ignoring the reviewer-turned-wizards furious mutterings, he poked his head into the living room. It seemed empty, but he wasn't taking any chances. "Alright, anyone else hiding in here?"

"Yes!" someone shouted

"Shut up!" someone else hissed.

"Um, no! I meant no!"

The Critic rolled his eyes. "Alright whoever you idiots are, get out here!"

"We'd prefer it if you called our names first," a new voice said.

"Yeah," said someone else, who the Critic was pretty sure was hiding behind the sofa. "It's more dramatic that way!"

"Okay, fine," snarled the Critic. "Linkara, get out here!"

A very prissy bit of Broadway music began to inexplicably play as Linkara strode into the living room. There was a black cape slung over his shoulders, which looked suspiciously like it had been stolen from someone's garbage. A sword hung at his waist, and the emblem of Atop the Fourth Wall was stamped on his chest. On his face, a beard had been Sharpied on.

"I must remind you, Critic, that I am a civilized man with occasional lapses," said Linkara, trying and failing spectacularly at a British accent.

Everyone stared at Linkara, wondering if the Sharpie fumes made him high.

"What are you supposed to be, some sort of Monty Python sketch?" the Critic finally asked.

"I, good sir, am King Arthur, as played by _Sir_ Richard Harris," Linkara answered, using more hand gestures than were necessary.

"Actually, I don't think he was knighted," said the Critic.

"He was knighted by the Queen of Denmark," said Spoony, checking Wikipedia on his ElvenMirr phone. "I don't think it really counts, if that's the case. Unlike certain actors in great movie trilogies who are actually from England."

Linkara glared at Spoony, but continued on with as much dignity as he could muster. " - in the _greatest movie ever made_, based off of _the greatest literature from England ever_, Camelot."

"What's the Elvish word for prat?" Spoony asked, narrowing his eyes at the comic reviewer.

"Have at thee!" snapped Linkara, drawing his sword and charging at Spoony, who raised his staff for a parry.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey! Save it for Broadway!" said the Critic, shoving them apart. God, at this rate, he'd need to arrange for time-outs and naps! "We have enough crap to deal with as it is, without starting some sort of rivalry subplot over whose dorky fantasy doo-doo is better! We haven't even set out for the gauntlet yet, little creepy kids are breakin into my bedroom, and there's still way too many introductions to get through! Speaking of which, have any of you chuckleheads seen the Nostalgia Chick?"

"Oh yeah!" said Joe. "She broke into your house around the same time I did. I think she - augh!"

Joe and the other three reviewers blanched and covered their eyes as a bright light began to shine through the living room window. A moment later, a female silhouette was standing before them.

{"What's this? Reviewers, caught off of their guard?"} came a voice, soft and melodic.

"Who's speaking the gibberish?" asked Linkara, shielding his eyes from the light. He managed to make out some of the woman's features - long, flowing, dark hair, pointy ears, and a wedding dress mocked-up to look elven.

{"Greetings, unattractive mortals,"} the lady said serenely. {"I am Arwen, daughter of King What's-His-Name, from those Matrix movies."}

"_What_?" shouted all four boys together.

"Read inside the damned brackets!" snapped the Nostalgia Chick, reverting back to English.

The reviewers were so busy trying to figure out what she was talking about that they failed to notice another man entering the room, this one shirtless and sporting a large sword and a ridiculous dark wig.

"Crom!" he growled, trying to force his French accent to sound halfway like Arnold Schwartzeneger. "Ask me what is best in life!"

The group stared, wondering if the years of reviewing terrible movies, video games, and comic books had finally made them crack.

Joe finally decided that he was not hallucinating and cleared his throat. "Okay, what is best in life?" he asked.

"To crush the enemies, see them driven before you, and hear the lamentation of their women," said Benzai (for that was who it was). He nodded at the Chick. "Present company excluded, of course."

"It's cool."

The Nostalgia Critic clapped his hands excitedly. "I like it!" he proclaimed. "A Frenchman playing an Austrian! It'll confuse the enemy! Very good!"

"Who the hell is 'the enemy'?" asked the Chick. "Do you know something we don't?"

"Who else there?" asked the Critic, ignoring her. "Um... Sage! Come on out!"

Sage walked majestically into the living room. "Greetings, sons of Adam, daughters of Eve. I am King Aslan," he said.

The entire room was silent as everyone stared at his costume. Truly, it was a thing to behold. It was made from the finest felts, hand-stitched, a costume made for a king.

Actually, it was the ugliest damned thing any of the reviewers had ever seen. As if on cue, they all drew breath and burst out laughing.

"Oh, shut up!" snapped Sage.

"Does the widdle kiddy want to go twick or tweeting?" asked Spoony, nearly doubled over.

"Stop laughing!"

"Or what?" asked the Chick, between gasps of laughter. "You gonna use our table legs as scratching posts?"

"Hey, I brought one world to an end," Sage warned them. "Don't make me do it again!"

I don't know, Ass Man! I don't think you've got the nerve!" laughed the Critic.

"I hate you so much," said Sage, flopping down on the sofa.

"If you don't like that, you're probably not gonna like my costume, then..." said a raspy voice from the doorway on the other side of the room.

Everyone shut up and turned around. Phelous was there and was, if possible, wearing an even more ridiculous outfit than Sage's. It looked like he was in grey sweatpants and a matching grey hoodie, with what appeared to be ginormous warts all over.

"Oh my god. Phelous, is that you?" asked the Critic.

"No, it's the Rockbiter!" said Phelous, straining his voice to be higher-pitched and raspy.

"Fantastic costume," said the Critic. "You look like a steroid elephant turd."

Phelous responded to this by grinning creepily. He reached into the pockets of the hoodie and pulled out two plastic dolls, the kind one could buy ridiculously overpriced for a dollar in the toy aisle of Rite Aide. "Well, my little friends think I look good," he said. He held the dolls up to his face and grinned. "You like my costume don't you?" he asked them. He then waved them towards the group of reviewers, who were growing increasingly terrified. "These are my little friends. They've come to help stop the Nothing!" Phelous hissed. "Say hello to my little friends!"

There was a beat, as everyone stare.

"Very nice," the Critic finally said, trying to move things along before the crazy completely took over. "Anyway, I-"

"I told you to say HELLO!" snarled Phelous, shoving the dolls in the Critic's face.

The Critic silently freaked out at this, and cursed himself for wearing white leggings instead of a sensible pair of brown pants. He gave a strained smile and patted the dolls, which were nearly up both nostrils. "Hello, inanimate objects," he said. "Please tell your big, creepy friend to not kill me."

Satisfied, Phelous slowly pulled the dolls from the Critic's face. "They'll be watching you," he said, leering at the group.

The room was deathly silent for a moment, before the Critic gave an audible gulp. "Fantastic!" he said, moving so that there was at least three feet between himself and Phelous. "Let's see...Marzgurl! Where is MarzGurl? Let's see what she dressed up as! Something un-insane I ho - OUCH!"

Marzgurl shot up in front of the Critic. She had somehow snuck into the room undetected and bitten him on the ankle.

"Sweet Jesus!" yelped the Critic, rubbing his ankle in agony. "What did you do that for, Marzgurl?"

Marzgurl narrowed her eyes at the Critic and began to speak in fluent Japanese.

"What'd she say?" asked Linkara.

["I said, I am not 'Marzgurl'! I am San, mistakenly known as Princess Mononoke - half woman, half wolf. Daughter of the great Wolf God, Gillian Anderson!"] cried Marzgurl. Unfortunately, no one had a chance of understanding her. Not only did they not speak Japanese, but she didn't think to point out the words inside of the brackets.

Fortunately, they were distracted by this when Marzgurl bit the Critic's leg again.

"EYOWCH!" he screamed, trying to pry her off. "Okay, okay, You're an animal rights nut! Geez! Let go!"

"Expelliarmoose!" someone shouted, just as the Critic got Marzgurl's teeth out of his leg.

"Now who is it?" he snarled.

Standing in the doorway, pointing a very cheap, plastic wand at Marzgurl, was Luke Mochrie. He was clearly dressed like Harry Potter, with the scar and the glasses and the wizarding robes that were vastly different from Spoony's. He was grinning from ear to ear, apparently under the impression that his magic really _did_ get Marzgurl off of the Critic.

"Expecto tarobitussin!" Luke cried, running into the room. "Magic is in the air, and -"

"You bloody copycat!"

Luke froze, nearly falling over. Everyone turned to the doorway again to see Film Brain, wearing an almost identical costume, right down to the wand, which he looked ready to shove up one of Luke's body orifices.

"Ah, hello there!" said Luke, not missing a beat. "You must be dressed as my less-important wizarding sidekick. I think you forgot to dye your hair red."

"The hell I did. Or am. Whatever!" Film Brain waved his wand threateningly at Luke. "_I_ have dibs on playing Harry Potter!

"Says who?" asked Luke, obnoxiously.

"Says me!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

["Silence!"] roared Marzgurl.

"I agree, or I assume I do," said the Critic. "You did tell them to shut up, right?" he asked, glancing at Marzgurl. "Yeah, thought so," he said, when she nodded. He turned back to the two younger members of the site. "Now's not the time to be assholes."

"That's kind of our job," Spoony pointed out.

"You know what I mean," said the Critic. "We've got to be assholes over legitimate issues, like the economy, or the _Star Wars_ prequels. Duplicate costumes don't count as legitimate! We've already got two Lord of the Rings and possibly two Narnias!"

"What? Who?" asked the Chick.

"Well, you do kinda look like the older sister," the Critic pointed out, which the other reviewers murmured in agreement with. "So the point is, we can have two Harry Potters!" he finished, glaring at the boys.

"But it's not fair!" Film Brain whined. "He shouldn't even qualify! I'm authentically British!"

"Yeah, well, I'm Canadian!" said Luke, smugly

"That's as British as being Turkish, you tit!" Film Brain shot back.

"What are you talking a_boot_?"

"It's "a_bout_," you _twat_!"

"Stop it, stop it!" shouted the Critic, who was eager to avoid learning about Canada, if at all possible. "As far as I'm concerned, you both look equally stupid!"

"But I look more stupid, right?" asked Film Brain, his lip quivering pathetically.

"Oh _yeah_!" said the Critic, either not noticing or ignoring the lip. He turned away from Film Brain (who was giving Luke a rasberry). "Okay, has anyone seen Cinema Snob yet?"

As if on cue, they heard the Snob begin to hum the Indiana Jones theme. Everyone turned to the doorway on the other side of the room (they were all getting a bit dizzy by this point) in time to see him stride toward them. With a totally serious expression on his face and still humming the theme, he leaned over to a bowl of party mix kept on the coffee table. Somehow still humming the song, he took a handful of party mix and ate it.

"Too bad the Doritos don't know you like I do, Critic," he said, after swallowing.

"Give me a break!" said the Critic. "You're _Indiana Jones_? That's not a fantasy character!"

"It's quest-based, so it counts," the Snob insisted. "Anyways, he survived a nuclear explosion in a refrigerator. If that's not fantasy, then I don't know what is."

The Critic sighed. This was not turning out at all like how he had planned. Ah well, they still had to find Obscurus Lupa. If anyone could get this done right, it was her!

As if on cue, Lupa minced into the living room and elegantly draped herself over the sofa. She was dressed like Disney's Snow White and, weirdly, was holding a rope that stretched out through the living room door and out of sight around the corner.

While everyone stared, Lupa limply lay the back of her hand over her forehead. "Oh, some day my prince will come!" she said, wistfully.

"No, no, no, no, no!" snapped the Critic, at the end of his own rope. "What is _wrong_ with you people? I said to use fantasy-based characters, not fairy tale ones!"

Lupa sat up and rolled her eyes. "Oh, right," she said, in her usual sarcastic voice. "I forgot. After all, fairy tales are _so_ based in reality. Shit, I mean..." She put her hand over her chest and smiled sappily. "Reawity," she said, in a soft, childish voice.

"Fantasy or fairy tale, it's all about giving in to the dreams of your imagination!" someone said. A minute later, a rather short fellow in an embarrassing ensemble of a green tunic and leggings ran into the living room, lept into the air with a spin, and came to a halt in front of the completely perplexed reviewers.

"Holy fuck, what is that?" asked the Critic, when he was able to pick his jaw off of the floor.

8-Bit Mickey grinned merrily. "I am Peter Pan, the little rapscallion who will never grow up!"

The Critic snorted. "Well, I can clearly see that."

It was hard to tell exactly what happened in the next few minutes. There was a loud bang, the sound of a dagger hitting the floor, a cry of "MARY, MOTHER OF GOD!" and a lot of scuffling. When it was over, the Cinema Snob was restraining 8-Big Mickey via a headlock and the Critic was rubbing his shins.

"Alright, alright, I'm good! You can let me go now," said Mickey, gasping for air.

"Well, I hope you learned a lesson," said the Critic.

"Yeah, don't fight the Critic or he'll sic Cinema Snob on you," muttered Lupa.

"But seriously, _Peter Pan_? For the love of God, what even possessed you to pick that pack of picked pepper puke?" asked the Critic, who was finally able to stand up straight.

"It was a last-minute choice," hissed Mickey, through clenched teeth.

"You totally had another option," said Lupa.

"Oh, you mean that offer of yours? No thank you!" said Mickey, taking a healthy step away from her.

"What offer? What's he talking about?" asked the Critic.

"I just thought we could collaborate on our costume," said Lupa. "Which reminds me." She took a more firm grip on the rope in her hand and gave a hearty tug. "Get your dopey ass in here!" she screamed at the doorway, before turning to the others and giving an innocent smile.

"Like hell I will!" a familiar voice called from the hallway. Before anyone could place the speaker, Lupa gave an even more powerful yank on the rope and Lord Kat went flying into the living room. He scrambled to his feet, trying to reclaim any possible shreds of dignity. There wasn't much for him to get. For starters, he was wearing a dog collar that Lupa's rope was tied to. Also, he was wearing one of the dwarves' costumes from Disney's _Snow White and the Seven Dwarves_.

"Dude, what are you doing here?" asked the Critic. "I didn't even invite you!"

"I didn't _want_ to come!" snapped Lord Kat. "That red-headed bitch -" he pointed at a bored-looking Lupa, "tracked me down and _forced_ me to do this!"

"Hey, what's Snow White without her dwarf slave?" Lupa asked. "Just a wuss who can sing and clean and shit. Anyway, all I did was pitch the idea"

"YOU POINTED A KNIFE AT MY THROAT!"

"I didn't actually say I would cut you. You came to that conclusion all by yourself."

"So..." said Luke uncomfortably. "Not that I want to criticize the scary lady's costume here, but why only one dwarf slave? Didn't Snow White have seven?"

"No way I could drag around seven doofuses from the site," said Lupa, looking disappointed. "I did try to get a few more, though. They all managed to escape. Lard-butt here was the only one who couldn't outrun me."

"I hate you so very much," said Lord Kat.

* * *

><p><strong>Ah-ha! An update! Imagine that! I apologize for taking so long. Introductions get a bit repetitive. ^^;<strong>

**And hey! Numbah84 of TV Tropes recommended this! Thank you so very much!**

**I am in no way own or am affiliated with Channel Awesome and its reviewers, _Suburban Knights_, or any of the cast or crew of it. This is being written for entertainment purposes only, and I am in no way profiting from it.**

****If it pleases you, drop a bit of constructive criticism! Other than that, enjoy! ^^****


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